


Foxy Complications

by CrazyKater



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 17:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6433468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyKater/pseuds/CrazyKater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WHN to Foxy Lady, coming together with a twist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foxy Complications

**Author's Note:**

> Comment if you want to :-)

_"_ _Love is friendship caught on fire. In the beginning a flame, very pretty, often hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering."_

_-Bruce Lee_

 

"Will you untie me?!" Hutch growled once more and Starsky smirked in return, igniting the blond's already short temper.

Turning in place to present his bound wrists to the chuckling man, Hutch let out a sigh and awkwardly lifted his hands as much as his protesting shoulders would allow. When Starsky made no effort to comply with his request Hutch cursed under his breath and his lips formed an irritated line as Starsky's sporadic giggles gave way to deep chested laughter.

"What is so _damn_ funny?" Hutch huffed, frustration seeping into his tone. He turned to find his friend bent over and struggling to catch his breath.

"Y-you," Starsky choked out, pulling himself to stand up straight as he wiped at his teary eyes. "You're all tied up!"

"Well, I know that." Hutch glared, his eyes twinkling with residual anger over not only being attacked in his own home—again—but also from the injustice of being held and bartered over for a suitcase of his partner's dirty laundry.

"It isn't funny." Scowling, Hutch kicked his tennis shoes on the dirt. "I mean it Starsk!" he added with his voice reaching a higher octave.

Starsky continued to laugh, but when a dangerous dark expression settled on the blond's handsome features Starsky decided his partner has suffered enough for one day.

"Okay, okay," Starsky soothed deeply as smiled warmly and closed the gap between them.

Despite his mood, Hutch was fine—Starsky was relieved to see that—and he didn't look any worse for wear, save his fiery eyes and his messed hair. But neither of those warranted any real concern. The anger was to be expected and the messy hair, well, that seemed to be an ongoing theme with as long as Hutch insisted on keeping it these days.

Starsky skimmed his hand over Hutch's upper back; the brown leather jacket felt cold and smooth, refreshing in some odd way. Moving his hand down to the ropes, Starsky was taken aback by the sudden thought that maybe he didn't want to untie Hutch. Perhaps, he had him right where he wanted him.

Feelings like this were nothing new to Starsky. After all, Hutch was an attractive man, and Starsky, not one to shy away from appreciating undeniable beauty—whether it be male or female—had his share of covert ogling sessions of his blond haired partner.

For years, Starsky had admired Hutch without any intention of admitting or even indulging in his attraction. But lately, new feelings were asserting themselves with undeniable aggressiveness. Starsky wanted to do more then look at Hutch.

Hutch let out a breath, turned, and all of his anger left him as he met his partner's blue depths. They were intoxicatingly beautiful; deep blue orbs flickering with passion and fire. And as he watched Starsky silently assess him, Hutch found himself wondering if some of his partner's intensity could be reserved for him.

With his eyes narrowing Starsky chewed slightly at his bottom lip. All his previous playfulness was gone, replaced with a deep penetrating concentration. As he covered Hutch's bound hands with one of his own, his eyes flickered momentarily with fire. His thumb jetted out and lightly caressed first the ropes and then the top of the blond's hand.

His eyes closed tightly as Hutch fought a groan. Starsky's movements were soft, almost sensual. There had been occasions when Hutch had been the recipient of Starsky's infrequent tender touches but never like this. Past occasions, born out of anxiety or pain, been strictly for comfort and reassurance. This touch had been something else entirely, and Hutch couldn't help but wonder if Starsky felt the overwhelming heat of their connection the way he did.

Forcing himself to stand up straight Hutch set his slumped shoulders. He fought a wave of disappointment as Starsky shook his head, pulled his hand abruptly away, and took step back.

And just as quickly as it had come, the moment was slipping away. Hutch huffed an exhale through his nostrils. He didn't know what this moment was or what it could lead to, but would be damned if he was going to let it go that easy.

"Starsk," Hutch said lowly. Licking his lips, he took a step forward and forced another deep breath as his chest bumped up against Starsky's. Hutch watched as a look of confusion flashed over his partner's handsome features only to be quickly replaced by one of intrigue.

"What?" Starsky breathed roughly. Their eyes locked as Starsky licked his lips mirroring Hutch's action. "I thought you wanted me to untie you," he added as an afterthought, but his tone implied he had no intension of doing so.

"Do you want to untie me, Partner?" Hutch questioned, his voice deep and gravely, sending a chill down Starsky's spine.

"Um... Yeah," Starsky hedged in a throaty whisper. "That is... If ya want me to."

"I do," Hutch breathed back staring down into Starsky's eyes. "Want you... To untie me."

"Okay."

Breaking eye contact, Starsky took a step forward, wrapped his arms around Hutch, and reached for the ropes. If Hutch found Starsky's method of untying him strange, he kept his mouth shut. Choosing, instead, to close his eyes, savoring their closeness and breathing in the mingling scents of Starsky's shampoo and aftershave.

Hutch's wrists felt the coolness of the air as the ropes fell to the ground, but to his surprise, Starsky didn't step back once the job was complete. Instead, he grabbed Hutch's hands tightly and pulled them to rest on his own hips. With his hands resting on top of Hutch's, Starsky stared wantonly at his partner's full lips and perfect jaw.

"What do you wanna do now?" Starsky breathed. He didn't dare hope that Hutch wanted the same as he, but with the way the blond man was considering him it was a hard thought to ignore.

Too intoxicated by his partner and the spell the moment had placed him under, Hutch didn't think. Moving his hands to rest on Starsky's lower back, he pulled him closer, then lowering his face Hutch claimed Starsky's mouth with his own.

The kiss was chaste at first. Both men feeling out the other's boundary. Neither wanted to push for too much and have the other back away. It was Starsky who initiated more. Snaking his tongue beyond Hutch's lips and teasing it with his partner's. Hutch groaned and pushed his hands against Starsky's back, pushing both of their hardening groins together.

Starsky's hands found Hutch's hair. He intertwined his fingers in the long locks as their kiss deepened. Gripping Starsky firmly, Hutch lifted and propelled his partner backwards, gently slamming the other man's back against the side of the small airplane.

Startled by the powerful movement Starsky gasped, his mouth opening around Hutch's needful kisses. His brain unable to comprehend anything beyond that moment, Starsky closed his eyes and moaned as Hutch's hand moved to caress his hips then settle on his belt buckle. Hutch's rapped his fingers over the medal, inadvertently teasing as he claimed his partner's mouth once more.

A foreign groan brought reality rushing back. Startled by the sound, Starsky pulled away from his partner. His wide eyes looking from the shocked face of the blond to the man moaning on the ground.

Zachary and Carelli, the two perps they had knocked unconscious before Lisa Kendrick made her escape in Starsky's borrowed car, were still very much in their presence. Zachary only a few paces from them and the aircraft and Carelli...

Frantically turning to look at the area beyond them, Starsky swore. Then raking his hand through his hair, he left Hutch to deal with Zachary while he walked swiftly to the car parked in the distance.

"Shit!" Starsky swore loudly. Placing his hands on his head he turned in place as he frantically struggled to recall what he had done with Carelli. Had he knocked him out or just injured him enough not to escape?

"Oh, God," Starsky thought as his heart dropped.

What if Carelli had seen what they were doing by the aircraft? How would they ever explain themselves?

"What?" Hutch shouted after him, but Starsky didn't respond. His heart was pounding in his chest and a feeling of helplessness was threatening to overwhelm him.

Carelli was gone.

Xx

Driving the borrowed car back to metro, with Zachary cuffed in the back seat, neither Starsky nor Hutch dared say a word. They had canvassed the area, searching for Carelli, only to come up empty handed. The man was gone and with how much knowledge of their inappropriate actions they were unsure.

Both partners stayed tight lipped as they booked, charged and passed Zachary off to a uniformed officer. They silently endured a brutal tongue lashing from Dobey, who couldn't believe they had not only allowed Carelli to escape but also that they hadn't contact him sooner and requested a more thorough search of the area.

"How could you have let him get away?'" Captain Dobey had bellowed while each man silently wondered the same.

How had they been so negligent? How could they allowed their sexual tension to reach its breaking point at such an inopportune time?

It wasn't like Starsky and Hutch were—completely—unaware of how the other felt. They had always been close; their attentiveness to each other bordering on hypervigilance. Their intimacy and understanding of one another, occasionally, appearing inappropriate to an outside eye.

Starsky and Hutch loved each other; that was no secret. They were partners, best friends, pals, but over the past year that love had grown into something else.

A slight tension had settled between the pair. A new found competitiveness with regards to women. If Starsky wanted a girl then Hutch had to have her. If Hutch thought a woman was attractive Starsky was already trying to get her into his bed. It was a strange horrible game they had fallen into, and one where the rules where never firmly defined. And the problem with playing games like that was that someone was bound to get angry or worse: hurt.

Not 48 hours ago had Hutch felt the need to defend Lisa Kendrick's late-night presence in his apartment—something he had no real control over, because it was her who had sought his company.

"You're makin' a big deal out of nothin'," he advised Starsky sternly, his hand reaching to grasp his partner's forearm.

But it was a big deal—Hutch knew it by the look in Starsky's eyes. And in those eyes, Hutch saw more than his partner's upset over the random woman seeking comfort in his messy apartment. Those eyes accused betrayal and Hutch found himself slightly taken aback by how that made him feel.

As angry as he had been at Starsky for barging in on him and Lisa, Hutch felt another emotion just as powerfully: guilt, and that guilt had been hard to handle. Hutch had faced a sleepless night in an empty bed. Tortured by a sudden unanswerable question: what was their game costing them?

The game wasn't enjoyable. It was nothing more than a symptom of what neither man could have: each other. Despite their connectedness, jumping from best friend to bedmate was a transition that neither seem ready to make. At times they had come close, but when approached with the point of no return, one had pulled back and walked away. There was just too much at stake. Their careers, friendship, and, perhaps most importantly, the delicate balance of power between them.

That afternoon they had crossed that line and the consequences of their actions were still unclear.

"What are we gonna do?" Starsky asked much later as he threw the Torino into to park on the curb outside of Venice Place. He nervously adjusted in his seat, unsure of what Hutch would say.

Hutch stared out the windshield watching as the last rays of daylight disappeared on the city's horizon. With his arm resting out the open window he worried an index finger between his teeth. Biting down just hard enough to send small jolts of pain through his hand and down his forearm.

At this point in the day, Carelli's disappearing act was the last thing on his mind. He was much more concerned with what had happened between him and his partner, and how he was going to negotiate Starsky back into his arms—or better yet, in his bed.

"Hutch?"

"Hmm." Hutch pulled his finger from his mouth and forced himself to look at Starsky.

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know, Pal," Hutch answered. "But…" he paused, his lower lip sliding between his teeth to hold back a smile.

Hutch found his partner's nervousness endearing. Starsky's quiet tone and grim expressions were clear signs of the panic he was feeling, and Hutch had to hold himself back from leaning over and gathering the man up in his arms for a firm hug and comforting kiss. But while he may not have been worried about Carelli, Starsky's reaction to another inappropriate public display of affection was enough to make Hutch ponder his next move.

"But what?" Starsky prompted.

"Does it really matter?" Hutch shrugged nonchalantly, hoping his ease over the situation would transfer to the other man. He didn't want to talk about Carelli; he wanted to talk about them.

"What?!" Starsky stared at his partner in shock. How could he possibly say that? Didn't he know what was at stake? His eyes wide and temper flaring he continued, "Does it matter? Who ARE you right now? Of course it matters! This are our careers we're talkin' 'bout here, Pal, just what do you think is gonna happen if he reports us—"

"Starsky," Hutch interrupted his voice calm, quiet, and smooth, and Starsky couldn't help but look at him. He found his anxiety lessening—just barely—by Hutch's composure.

"He isn't going to report us," the blond continued knowingly. "If he did that he would chance being arrested and do you think a man like him would trade his freedom just to squeal on a couple of kissing cops?"

Starsky nodded. Hutch's theory made sense, but his partner's confidence about the threatening situation and disregard of the possible consequences was more than a little irritating. And then there was Hutch's choice of words. Kissing cops? How dare Hutch dilute what had happened between them to such simple terms.

"Aren't you just a Mr. Fuckin' Cool," Starsky stated sarcastically as he slapped his palm on the steering wheel.

Rolling his eyes at Starsky's outburst, Hutch threw open the car door. Maybe tonight wasn't the night to discuss what had happened or more importantly where they were headed with their new knowledge of one another.

"Wha—where ya going?!" Starsky yelled at his retreating partner. He cringed at the level a panic in his voice, but he couldn't help his tone. This was serious shit they were discussing and Hutch was just going to leave him there? Sitting alone in his parked car.

Sitting sideways, Starsky leaned over to the passenger seat. He watched Hutch slam the door, then bend and lean to rest his elbows on the windowsill.

"Starsky—Babe," Hutch smiled reverting to an old nickname they hadn't used in months, "this is all gonna be just fine. Carelli is gone. I promise you."

"But what if he's not?"

Reaching his hand out and running it through Starsky's wayward curls, Hutch tilted his head and whispered, "I don't care about that at the moment. It's been a long day, and right now all I want to do is go upstairs and relax. You wanna come up?"

Xx

Sitting on Hutch's couch, beer in hand, Starsky couldn't recall ever being so anxious—especially at Hutch's place. His partner's apartment wasn't suited for such a feeling. The small area was carefully crafted to put its inhabitants at ease, with its mellow colored décor, open floor plan, and sporadically placed plants. Hutch's home had become somewhat of a sanctuary for Starsky over the years. A place to go for comfort when the world seemed too big or when his worries were too much to handle alone. But the surroundings brought him little comfort tonight.

Starsky's mind seemed intent on holding on to his concern about Carelli, and now, watching Hutch work calmly in the kitchen, a new worry consumed his mind. What were they going to do about their new knowledge of each other? Their carnal knowledge of one another.

Starsky blinked his eyes and shook his head. No. It wasn't carnal. It was much milder than that. A make out session in daylight—they hadn't even touched each other, not really anyway. Just a few steamy kisses coupled with wandering hands. Starsky had covered more bases in a movie theater on his last date.

Letting out a sigh, Starsky rested his feet on the coffee table only to pull them off again, then crossed his legs and uncrossed them. He wanted bring up the subject of their kiss, but Hutch hadn't spoken of it and Starsky wasn't sure he wanted to be the first one to bring it up or if he wanted to bring it up at all. What if Hutch wanted to do it again, or worse—what if he didn't?

"Wanna throw on a record?" Hutch's voice interrupted Starsky's troubled thoughts.

"Uh, sure…"

Turning around, Starsky pulled himself to sit on his knees. He lifted the cover on the turntable before leafing through Hutch's stack of records. Finding nothing of interest, he abandoned the pile, and watched his partner calmly prepare dinner.

It wasn't the first time Hutch had made him a meal but tonight the action seemed foreign to him.

It was late when they had arrived at the apartment. They could have just as easily ordered pizza or food from dozen other take-out places nearby, but Hutch had insisted on cooking. In fact, he had insisted on cooking after handing Starsky a beer and telling him to sit down and relax.

It wasn't so much the cooking part that was so strange—Hutch preferred cooking to ordering out, something Starsky had always found odd. Who would want to do all the work when you could have someone else do it for you? However Hutch was into fitness and eating healthy food, and ordering out didn't exactly fit into his idea of well-balanced meal.

What Starsky did find strange was what Hutch was preparing for dinner: spaghetti. Starsky loved spaghetti—or any Italian food for that matter—and never, in all their years together, had Hutch volunteered to make such a thing, at least not under normal circumstances. Hutch's preparation of comfort food usually followed something incredibly traumatic. A hospital stay or something soul crushing. Losing a perp definitely was not a qualifying event.

Standing and grabbing his beer from the coffee table, Starsky took a drink. Spaghetti. It was almost like Hutch was cooking for a date or something. The thought was enough to make his choke on his beer. He bent over slightly, overcome by violent coughs.

"Are you alright?" Hutch asked, looking at him concerned.

Still half bent, Starsky waved his beer-free hand. "Fine," he croaked out between coughs. "Just swallowed wrong."

The answer was enough for Hutch. He shrugged and returned to the boiling pot of water.

Slightly recovered from his choking fit, Starsky wiped at his mouth and sunk into the couch, overcome by a new thought. Hutch always cooked for his dates. Was this a date?

Starsky looked the beer in his hand as he smelled the tantalizing aroma of the simmering sauce. No, if it was a date Hutch would have offered him wine, Starsky was sure of it. Beer and pasta didn't exactly settle well—at least not the cheap beer Hutch had given him.

Starsky smiled. This was not a date. No wine. No date.

"Hey, Starsk," Hutch said bending down to pull a bottle out of his cabinet. "How about some wine, buddy?" he smiled, gathered the corkscrew from the counter, and went to work on the bottle of red wine.

Starsky almost dropped his beer. Maybe this was a date. His gaze fell to his tattered jeans and then his yellow striped turtleneck. If this was date he really should have dressed better. Wait, what? Why would he even think a thing like that? This wasn't a date. This was dinner at his best friend's place after a rough day. A day where they had had their first kiss and-

"Hey, Starsk?" Hutch asked softly. "I thought you were going to put on some music?"

Dinner, wine, and music? This was too much. Starsky shot up from the couch, turned, and shouted, "What are we doing?!"

Hutch stared at him for a moment, too shocked by his partner's outburst to respond.

The pause was too much for Starsky. He abandoned his beer on the coffee table and purposefully strode to the kitchen.

"Well?" he demanded, throwing his hands up in the air as he came to stop in front of Hutch.

"Dinner?" Hutch offered with a comforting smile. "We're having dinner, Partner." He wiped his hands on the thighs of his jeans.

Starsky blew out a breath. "I know we're havin' dinner. I mean what are we doing here, now?" he stated his voice straining with exasperation. He longed to bring up the kiss but controlled himself, propelling his outburst to safer topic. "What are we gonna do about Carelli, Hutch? You know we just can't count of him being gone forever. The money is gone, and so is Lisa. And Dobey…Shit, Dobey is pissed! How can that not affect you right now?"

Crossing his arms Hutch leaned on the counter and fought a smile. "Starsky," he stated calmly. "Relax."

"Relax?"

"Relax," Hutch repeated with a nod and grin. "It will all work out. I promise."

"You promise," Starsky parroted, taking a step back.

How could Hutch be so calm? Relax. How the hell was he supposed to do that? He couldn't do that. Not without know where Carelli was and what he knew. And not without having a proper conversation with his partner about what had happened between them.

Hutch reached his hand out and squeezed Starsky's shoulder. "Why don't you go throw on an album, huh?" he asked his voice deep and soft. "I'll pour you a glass of wine. We'll eat dinner. You'll feel better, I promise."

Starsky looked at Hutch's extended arm. There was something so right about that hand resting on his shoulder. The same touch— Starsky had felt so many times before—suddenly felt so different. The weight heavy, and, yet, incredibly gently at the same time. Starsky looked into the deep blue eyes of the man who had been his best friend for the last eight years and it was then he couldn't deny what the night was, or what he wanted it to be.

"You kissed me today." The quiet words were out of Starsky's mouth before he could stop them.

"Yeah," Hutch affirmed maintaining his composure. He lifted his free hand and rested it on Starsky's other shoulder. The movement brought the partners dangerously close. Hutch tilted his head he continued in a deep voice, "You started it, Babe."

There it was again. _Babe_.

Starsky held Hutch's gaze. "Yeah," he breathed quickly losing himself in the intensity of the familiar stare. "Don't ya think you oughta finish it then?"

In one way or another they had always belonged to each other. The progression of their relationship had been inevitable. The recent mounting sexual tension between them downright unbearable. But in that moment—with Hutch's hands firmly grasping his shoulders and his partner staring deep into his soul-Starsky finally understood what Hutch was really saying when he advised him to relax.

Relax. Don't fight this. Let it work itself out. Hutch hadn't been talking about Carelli, he had been talking about them.

"Do you want me to finish it?"

The tone of Hutch's voice was tantalizing and Starsky was beyond holding himself back. There would be no more games between them; Starsky knew that with certainty. He wanted Hutch and Hutch wanted him—the way his partner was looking at him left no room for doubt about his true feelings.

Catching his bottom lip between his teeth, he ventured his hands out and placed them on Hutch's sides. "Do you think you'll be able to?" Starsky asked quietly. "Finish it, I mean?"

Hutch's brows rose and he smiled playfully. "Don't you worry about me, Starsk. I got it all under control."

Starsky opened his mouth to continue their banter but Hutch leaned forward and covered it with his own. The kiss was gentle, sweet, and better than Starsky remembered.

Letting go of his shoulders, Hutch encircled Starsky's waist with one arm and moved the other to cup his partner's neck with his palm. Opening his mouth wider, Starsky allowed Hutch to deepen their kiss. He felt a rush of excitement as his partner's tongue touched his own.

Starsky pulled Hutch's plaid flannel shirt out of the waist of his jeans. His hands worked their way up under the material. He rubbed and scratched his way up and down his partner's back. He didn't know what he was doing but he didn't care, now fully abiding by Hutch's rule of letting it work itself out.

Hutch's touches were electric. Starsky lost himself in sensations he hadn't felt in a very long time. Passion burning white hot and the feeling like he might die if they stopped—dear god, in the privacy of Hutch's home, nothing could stop them now.

Then the phone rang.

Hutch pulled back from the kiss with a groan. "I should probably grab that," he whispered in a scratchy tone.

"Yeah."

Starsky blinked a few times to clear his head. Their intense kisses had left his brain fuzzy, and his body hot. He frowned as Hutch let go of him and moved to answer the phone.

"Hutchinson," Hutch barked into the receiver. He pursed his lips and shot Starsky an apologetic look.

Although grateful for the expression, Starsky wasn't sure why his partner felt the need to offer it. He was a cop too, and no stranger to being interrupted and called back to duty at the most inconvenient time.

Feeling slightly awkward and exposed without Hutch's arms around him, Starsky turned his attention to the forgotten wine bottle on the counter. He poured himself a glass, trying to ease body and calm his frayed nerves.

"Uh-huh." Hutch said carding his fingers through his hair. 'We'll be there," he added just before slamming the receiver down with a muffled swear. Planting his hands firmly on his hips, he lingered by the phone for a moment, chewing his bottom lip.

"Who was that?" Starsky asked. Peering into the bottom of his wine glass, he swirled the contents around then brought the glass to his lips, then drank deeply.

"Dobey," Hutch frowned.

At the mention of their superior officer, Starsky felt a flash of fear. And even though it was near impossible, at that moment, Starsky was sure the large man had known exactly what he and Hutch had been doing. Maybe Dobey had been lingering outside of Hutch's apartment door. Spying on them through the peephole only to run down the stairs and call his partner on the payphone the second things between them got hot and heavy.

Starsky pounded his glass of wine in an effort to temper his anxiety. Then, pulling the glass from his mouth, he shook his head and forced the fear fueled thought from his brain. Who was he kidding? Dobey hadn't ran in years.

"What did he want?" Starsky asked turning his back on his partner and setting his glass down. He gripped the side of the counter tightly, leaned over, and hung his head. Waiting for the inevitable bad news.

Hutch didn't answer.

With his back turned, Starsky could barely make out the sound of his partner's soft footsteps as the man approached him at the counter. He could feel his heart beat quicken in anticipation of both what Dobey had to say and the unpredictability of Hutch's next move.

"To let us know Lisa Kendrick purchased an airline ticket," Hutch answered lowly, stopping inches behind Starsky. "He wants us at the airport to try to intersect her. He thinks Carelli may try to contact her or intervene—if he hasn't already."

"You're kidding," Starsky whispered. He inhaled sharply as Hutch ran fingertips across his shoulders then slowly pulled him into a backward hug.

Starsky was speechless— surprised by his partner's sudden assertiveness over him. He was sure the interruption would have made Hutch more hesitant to touch him. Instead, it had made his partner's behavior more demanding. And Starsky wasn't sure he could handle much more of Hutch's close proximity and too soft touches. The sparks between them were already threating a fire that would most certainly burn them both in the end.

"Afraid not." Hutch whispered in his ear.

His hot breath sent chills down Starsky's spine and left him dumbfounded.

"When—"Starsky choked out as Hutch's hands smoothed their way down his chest. "W-when do we gotta be there?" He blinked a few times—frantically trying to understand his partner's ability to make him feel lightheaded and so grounded at the same time.

"Soon as possible," Hutch murmured, his mouth moving to trail silent kisses from Starsky's ear down his neck.

"O—kay." Starsky inhaled sharply as Hutch moved his hand to pull at the collar of his turtleneck. "Hutch?" he asked leaning his neck to the side to allow his partner better access.

"Hmmm?"

"Ummm…. Ah… Dontcha think we oughta leave?" It filled Starsky with regret to say such a thing, but someone had to be the voice of reason.

"Do you want to leave?" Hutch countered.

Starsky closed his eyes. Damn it, not this again. Couldn't Hutch come up with anything original to say?

"Hutch," Starsky said, his voice sounding stronger than he felt. They had to stop. They had to follow Dobey's orders and head to the airport. The last thing they needed was to screw up another order because they couldn't control themselves.

Starsky pulled away from his partner and turned around to look him in the eye. Hutch's disappointment was clear. His pursed lips and crossed arms sure signs of irritation over having to table their exploration of each other—again.

Pushing out a frustrated breath, Hutch looked at Starsky. He didn't want to wait. Not anymore. The day already seem too long, and even though Starsky was standing less than a foot away, he seemed further from Hutch than he'd ever been.

Starsky was here in this moment. So sure of him and what they were doing. Hutch was afraid that every second they waited would allow his partner to slid back into his apprehension and indecision about what he wanted—what they wanted together.

"Don't look at me like that." Starsky offered pulling himself off the counter. He reached out and rubbed Hutch's arm comfortingly. "Let's go finish this up, huh?" he smiled his eyebrow raising. "Then maybe we can finish something else."

Xx

The romantic mood of the apartment did not transfer to the car ride to Trans World Airlines, much to Starsky's relief. There was no way he could have negotiated the Torino through traffic if Hutch had continued to allow his hands to wander. Although it would have been nice if some of the mood would have carried over, as Starsky found Hutch's ability to shut off his passion a bit unnerving. Sneaking glances at Hutch as he drove, Starsky couldn't find any lingering evidence of his previous exuberance; the blond man remained quiet and icy calm, all of his attention suddenly focused on apprehending Lisa Kendrick.

The airport was bust. Lisa was nowhere to be seen, and further investigation revealed that she had purchased two airline tickets. One for the redeye flight Starsky and Hutch were ordered to stop her from boarding and another for an earlier flight, which she used to flee the country, but not before leaving them a note and blue suitcase full of undergarments at the desk for International Departures.

"Thanks for the fun boys" were her parting words. Starsky felt Hutch's mood sour as soon as his partner read the feminine script.

"God damn it!" Hutch growled, crumping the paper up and tossing it to the ground.

"Um…Hutch?"

"What?!"

"That was evidence… I don't think ya shoulda done that." Offering his partner a small smile, Starsky retrieved the discarded paper, unrumpled it, and smoothed at the deep creases on the note.

"I know that—" Hutch roared before stopping himself, noting the startled looks from the counter attendants.

"Well ya don't have to yell at me," Starsky mumbled. His shoulders slumped from the blond's outburst as his eye remained transfixed on the paper in his hands. "I didn't let her get away."

He was used to Hutch's occasional and sudden eruptions of anger but after the closeness they shared at the apartment being the target of Hutch's frustration was a little hard to handle. It stung and left him feeling uneasy. How Hutch could had been so sweet and kind only to lash out less than an hour later?

Letting out a heavy sigh, Hutch hung his head and closed the suitcase. Pulling it from the counter, he grasped Starsky's upper arm, turned him around and propelled him toward the exit.

They were almost out the door, and into the dimly lit parking lot, before he spoke again, offering up a low, "Sorry."

"It's okay," Starsky answered quietly, but he pulled his arm from his partner's grasp and quickened his pace, putting space between them. An action wasn't so much to remove himself from his partner's touch as it was to clear his head—something he couldn't do with Hutch's hands on his body. But as soon as the contact was broken Starsky was assaulted with scattered and panicked thoughts.

Lisa was gone and unlikely to return, but what had happened to Carelli? What if he'd seen them, and worse what if he told somebody what he'd seen? As much as Starsky wanted to share in Hutch's certainty that things would work out, he found he couldn't. There was just too much at stake not to be worried. If anyone ever found out about their indiscretion by the airplane it would be the end of things as they knew them and would cost them everything.

Their careers and their lives, everything they had worked so hard to achieve would be gone, stripped from them in the most traumatic way possible. Oh, Dobey would try to protect them, Starsky was sure of that, but he wouldn't be able to. If Carelli went public with what he saw there would be no stopping the storm of media that would come their way. Reporters would descend upon them like starving vultures, picking apart their lives and sensationalizing every detail before eventually scattering their remains across every newspaper in the city and the five o'clock news.

Starsky wasn't sure he could handle such a thing, but he knew with unwavering certainty that Hutch could not. His partner may talk a big game but Starsky knew the truth. Underneath the blond's know-it-all persona and self-assured grin Hutch had a gentle heart and an almost too sensitive soul. And as hard as Starsky had worked to make his way in the world, Hutch had worked equally hard. No, their struggles hadn't been the same and their journeys as different as they could be, but while Starsky had elected to make peace with the painful memories in his past Hutch had not. In fact, Starsky knew there were quite a few monsters his partner actively contended with.

"Starsky?" Hutch's soft tone broke their silence.

"What?" Starsky mumbled absently, coming to a stop beside the driver's side of the Torino. Resting one palm on the roof of the car, he pulled his keys out of the pocket of his worn jeans. Avoiding Hutch's piercing gaze, he linked the keychain over his index finger and enclosed the silver and gold keys in the palm of his hand.

"Babe."

That was all it took for Starsky to meet his partner's blue eyes.

"I'm sorry." Hutch offered in a soft tone, reminiscent of the one he had used back in the apartment. "I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

"I don't care."

"Yes, you do," Hutch disagreed.

Leaning against the car, he extended his arm over the roof and rested his hand next to Starsky's. His index finger snaked out and rubbed against his partner's. Anxiety filled in the pit of Hutch's stomach when Starsky didn't answer. And somehow he knew, Starsky wasn't upset about his outburst, this was something more.

Starsky pursed his lips and offered Hutch a nod. Pulling his hand away he unlocked the car door and rested himself heavily on the driver's seat. He sat there for a second, considering how he felt and why everything had unfolded the way it had. Lisa was gone, they had no idea where Carelli was, and now Hutch and he were—mixed up. The heat of the apartment was gone, leaving Starsky feeling cold and confused.

Apprehension weighed heavily on his heart as he realized he wasn't ready for this. Thank god Dobey had called when he did, before he'd done something he couldn't take back. Now was not the time for them to be awakening dangerous feelings, ones that were better left alone, swept under the rug, and ignored completely.

Hutch tapped the passenger window and pointed at the lock, breaking him out of his burdened thoughts. Starsky reached over, pulled the lock, then set his gaze on the darkness beyond the windshield.

Placing Lisa's abandoned suitcase in backseat, Hutch sat and shut the door. Taking in the seriousness of Starsky's expression he ran his hand through his hair, then worried the collar of his shirt.

Starsky didn't say anything; he didn't have to. Hutch had seen that look before and he knew what it meant. Their moment had passed, and Hutch only hoped they would be given another.

Xx

As weeks passed a tension settled between Starsky and Hutch. After the night at the airport and Starsky's inevitable decision to put a breaks on their relationship, things just weren't the same. For Starsky because he was content to pretend nothing had happened between them—or so it appeared—and for Hutch because he couldn't seem to forget how close the pair had come to finally acting on how they really felt.

Starsky jumped back into their friendship without skipping a beat—as if their kisses and Carelli had never existed. And Hutch settled into a perpetual bad mood. His irritation with his partner seemed never ending, and soon Hutch found that there was very little about Starsky that didn't grate on his nerves.

Everything came to a head when Starsky wrecked the Torino—which within itself was terrible enough, but since Hutch was sitting shotgun and had begged him to slow down prior to the accident, the experience was infinitely worse.

Laying in his hospital bed waiting for the nurses to bring Hutch in, Starsky had felt mortified. His partner would be furious—he was certain of that. He had prepared himself to deal with all the I-told-you-so's and derogatory remarks Hutch sure to throw his way. Not that Starsky could blame him—not really—he probably would have been equally upset had Hutch been the one in the driver's seat.

Hutch, however, had formulated his own plan to get even with Starsky over the accident. With his partner's romantic rejections still stinging, he decided to see how Starsky would feel if he thought Hutch couldn't remember anything that had happened between them—ever. He had pulled it off at first—acting like a jerk for a good few days—until guilt got to him and he confessed his act—partly because of how kind and hopeful Starsky had been as he re-told memories from their partnership but mostly because of the last story Starsky had chosen to tell.

Hutch had kept up his farce through Starsky's tales of his crabbiness and bad driving skills. He had even put on a straight face when Starsky told the nurse about what he had endured at the hands of Forest. He fought tears and pain when Starsky spoke about Gillian and then Teri. But then Starsky put everything on the table, whispering in the darkness about their first kiss and how it had made him feel and it was then Hutch felt compelled to come clean.

The way Starsky was talking about them was downright idyllic and even though Hutch found himself wondering what would happen if he would have maintained his secret amnesia—would Starsky have been able to commit and leave his fears behind if Hutch had no memory of before?—the lie just was too much.

"You grabbed me," Starsky whispered in the darkness. "I'd never felt anything like it—"

"Me either."

"Hutch…" Starsky paused, shooting up from his hospital bed to stand by Hutch's. "You're remembering. You—"

"No." Hutch forced a sad smile. "I never forgot."

"What?"

"I never forgot. I was pretending."

Starsky was less than understanding or happy about his disclosure. "You're a real fuckin' asshole you know that!?" he fumed crossing his arms in disgust. "I can't believe you would lie about amnesia. Christ, Hutch, do you have any idea how worried I was?"

"Worried or relived?" Hutch shot back before he could stop himself. When Starsky's face fell he realized he had gone too far, but it was too late to take it back now. Anger simmered in his chest as he lashed out once more. "Why don't you just shut up and go flirt with the nurses again?" he growled pointing at the door.

Starsky looked at him with a mixture of hurt and disgust on his face. For a moment Hutch thought he saw frustrated tears welling up in his partner's eyes, however Starsky turned away before he could be sure.

"Whatever," the dark haired man seethed as he turned and stalked out of the room.

Xx

Four days later and fresh from traffic duty, Starsky and Hutch walked silently through the Metro building. The tension between them was palatable and the other officers avoided the partners as they walked by with sour looks on their faces.

"This is all your fault," Starsky growled pulling the silver whistle from his neck and throwing it down on his desk.

"My fault?" Hutch fumed. "I wasn't the one who wrecked the car—"

"Yeah, but it was your bright idea to pretend to be brain damaged—"

"Will you guys keep it down? Some of us are trying to work here," a plainclothes officer said as he looked up from the stack of papers on his desk. "Besides, Dobey isn't gonna like it if he hears you guys arguing again."

Hutch rolled his eyes and stalked to the coffee pot.

"What do you care?" Starsky scowled at the officer as he sat heavily at his desk.

"I don't." The officer shrugged. "But you two should."

"Yeah, why's that?" Starsky asked.

Surprised, the officer looked at Starsky then Hutch. "Haven't you guys heard?" he asked finally.

"Heard what?" Hutch questioned taking a sip of his coffee.

"They picked up Carelli," the officer answered with a hit of a grin. "Boy, he was spewing some funny story about the two of you."

Hutch choked on his coffee and Starsky's face became guarded as he felt a chill climb up his spine.

"What?" he breathed.

"Yeah," the officer continued. Crossing his arms, he leaned back in his chair and nodded at Dobey's closed door. "IA has been in Dobey's office all morning."

Mouth agape, Starsky looked at his choking partner with horror etched on his face. Carelli had seen them after all, and now everyone would know what they had done.

Xx

Ankles hooked over knees, arms crossed protectively, Starsky and Hutch sat nervously in Dobey's office. They avoided looking at each other—or anyone else—as they silently listened to Dryden and Simonetti repeat Cardelli's claims in excruciating detail.

They had been wrong. So very wrong. Carelli hadn't fled Bay City. In fact, he had taken respite at a run-down motel on the east side of town and was laying low until the investigation calmed down. Which it had, leading Carelli to venture out only to be serendipitously pulled over on a traffic charge, then consecutively arrested for his involvement in Lisa Kendrick and Hutch's kidnapping.

It just about the dumbest thing Starsky had ever heard. All of it. The events leading up to Cardelli's arrest and Hutch's and his total disregard of the lingering threat of the man's awareness regarding their actions. Because as it turned out, Carelli not only had seen everything that had taken place between them, he hadn't been tightlipped about what he knew either. He'd blabbed it all over metro. There hadn't been an officer that hadn't heard his claims by the time IA and Dobey finally called the partners in for a private meeting.

The longer he sat and listened to Dryden repeat the claims of their inappropriate actions the angrier Starsky got. He was annoyed with himself for losing control that day, and irritated at Hutch for not having the foresight to stop them from making a mistake. That was what the blond was always saying wasn't it? That he was the brains of the duo. In that moment, feeling claustrophobic in Dobey's too small office, Starsky cursed his partner—and himself—for thinking with the wrong brain.

Dobey looked less than pleased with any of the men in the room. His face set in a look of deep disapproval as his gaze moved in an endless loop of assessing his detectives then the men who were accusing them of doing something that made him feel downright uncomfortable.

If Dobey were honest, it wasn't the first time he'd heard such a suspicion about this specific partnership. There had been a few times when Starsky and Hutch had become the unwilling fuel for the department rumor mill, and Dobey had been privy to more than a few whispered accusations of what Starsky and Hutch's relationship entailed when they were off duty. Not that he believed a word of it, because he didn't. The suspicions were nothing more than unfortunate gossip fueled by other officers who were either uncomfortable with the close bond the men shared or jealous of cohesiveness and professional success that bond enabled them.

Dobey didn't spend a lot of time thinking about the nature of Starsky and Hutch's relationship—or the relationships of any of his officers for that matter. What his men chose to do behind closed doors was their business. It simply didn't concern him. This matter, however, concerned him very much, Simonetti and Dryden's unsolicited presence in his office was proof of that.

Pushing out a heavy breath and pinching the bridge of his nose, Dobey raised his hand and indicated for Dryden to cease his tale. He had heard enough.

"It's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," Dobey stated gruffly as he leaned his head in the palm of his hand. He point at Hutch, "he was married for four years. And he," his finger shifted to Starsky, "he's got a reputation of being a womanizer."

Starsky's face scrunched in objection to the harsh term. Ladies' man sure. But womanizer?

"Now, Cap—"Starsky's protest of the term was cut short as Hutch's foot made hard contact with his leg. Pain shot up his shin and Starsky felt himself lose what little control he had over his anger. Leaning down to rub at his leg he glared at his partner.

"What is your fucking problem?" he fumed.

Hutch's forehead puckered as he scowled. Starsky had the audacity to bait him into a fight in the middle of a meeting with IA and Dobey? All Hutch wanted him to do was shut up. If Dobey wanted to describe Starsky's as a womanizer so be it. It could only help them at this point. Take the focus off of what they may have done together and transfer it to what Starsky was known to have done with women. Hutch was sure that Starsky wasn't thinking of it in those terms though, and that certainty pushed him over the edge.

"You," Hutch barked back, his finger inches from his partner's face. "You're my problem..."

Dobey groaned and rolled his eyes as two of his finest officers dissolved into yet another game of who could insult the other more.

"You want to tell me that you honestly believe the claims Carelli is making?" Dobey looked at

Simonetti and Dryden who exchanged a quick glance each other. "They can't even be civil to each other!" Dobey continued pointing at Starsky and Hutch. "And you expect me to believe some crackpot idea that they were canoodling together, on the job!"

"Carelli did have some pretty clear details," Dryden offered his face reddening as he recalled the claims. "I don't really think those are the kinds of things that..." he paused, looking away in embarrassment. "Well, he would… make up."

Starsky and Hutch continued fighting in the background, and Dobey let out a sigh, then rubbed his temples trying to combat the throbbing pain that was becoming more unbearable by the second.

"You're not going to do anything with this are you?" Simonetti ventured.

"Not unless you can bring me a photo of the action," Dobey frowned. "As far as I'm concerned it's hearsay. Every bit of it."

"And their delay in reporting Carelli's escape?" Dryden challenged. "How do you explain that? Or the fact that he even got away to begin with?"

"Look!" Dobey slammed his palm on the desk. "You had a claim, you investigated it. Carelli says it happened, and Starsky and Hutch say it didn't. Unless you bring me some tangible proof, there isn't anything more to do. You did your job now let them do theirs."

Dryden stared the large man down for a moment before shaking his head. "Okay," he said quietly, then looked at Simonetti and nodded toward the door. "But your boys better behave," he added pulling the door open. "We'll be watching them with great interest."

Dobey rested his head in his palms and took a deep calming breath as Starsky and Hutch continued their argument oblivious to the other men leaving the room.

"I am so sick of your shit—"Hutch's voice suddenly was cut off by Dobey's deep bellow.

"KNOCK IT OFF!"

Hutch forced himself to look at Dobey and Starsky's gaze fell to the floor.

"Now," Dobey continued. "I don't know what is going on between the two of you, but figure it the hell out!" I will not tolerate the two of you acting each other like kids on a schoolyard!"

"He started it." Starsky crossed his arms and pouted.

"You don't take responsibly for anything do you?" Hutch shot back in irritation.

Dobey rolled his eyes again. "It doesn't matter who started it." He growled feeling like he was stuck in the middle of an argument between Rosie and Cal. "I'm ending it." He looked them seriously. "Was any of that true?" he asked lowly.

Neither man answered, but their guarded expressions were enough to make Dobey suspicious of what had actually happened between them. He remained quiet for a moment—convinced he wasn't hearing the whole truth—until deciding he didn't want to do know much more. It was better for all of them if he didn't know more.

"Well," he said finally. "Whatever is going on between you two, be careful. You heard Dryden. They're watching you." He paused waiting for a response from either man. "In the meantime, I want you two to head out. Another taxi driver was murdered last night, I want you two to check out the scene."

"But Captain," Hutch fumed leaning forward in his seat. "That isn't even our case!"

"It is now," Dobey barked back. He pointed a finger between the men. "I expect you two to cut out the shit and do your job. One of you is gonna have to go undercover. Maybe the time apart will do you some good."

"I'll do it." Starsky volunteered before Hutch could open his mouth.

"Of course you will." Hutch mumbled. "You'll do anything you can to run from a difficult situation."

The statement earned him a frown from Starsky but Hutch didn't care. He knew he shouldn't venture such proclamations in front of Dobey given the curiosity of IA and Dobey's previous words, but he couldn't make himself truly care about that either. The only thing he was concerned with was how he felt about Starsky and how Starsky was choosing not to reciprocate his feelings.

"Are we done here?" Starsky asked.

"Yes, get out of my office." Dobey waved them away, but Starsky was already halfway out the door.

Xx

Hutch found the case of the strangled cabbies infuriating. And Starsky, oblivious to his annoyance, seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. His nights were spent undercover in an old checkered cab and most mornings were with the company of a new flame—much to Hutch's chagrin.

It seemed that if Starsky didn't feel comfortable facing his complicated feelings for his male partner, then he would make a move on the next best thing. Blonde haired, blue eyed, guitar playing, K.C. McBride. Hutch had only met the woman once but the similarities between himself and Starsky's new love interest was enough to make him want to puke or worse—cry.

Hutch cursed himself for not being able to let go of what had happened between the two of them. He was frustrated with himself for being so foolish and angry over such a silly little thing.

It was just a few kisses. Some mild touching. Hutch couldn't count how many times he'd been through the same thing with a female love interest. And he'd never hung on to the quick fizzle of a potential romance quite like this. Of course, none of those rejections had been from Starsky. His partner of eight years. His best friend. The man he loved.

With Starsky's evening's filled with putting endless miles on a taxi cab and his days with sleeping and K.C, it didn't leave much room for Hutch. Which was fine with the other man—or at least that's what he told himself. They had needed space. Hutch had wanted space, and he intended to enjoy himself. He looked up some old flames, had some dates and couple of wild nights of his own but it just wasn't the same. The girls were okay, and they did the job his body craved, however, his heart longed for something more.

His heart longed for Starsky.

Hutch turned his attention to work, and the investigation. He followed through all the leads that came their way, but as days turned into weeks and two more cab drivers fell victim to the strangler, Hutch found himself increasingly anxious about Starsky's safety. What was stopping his partner from becoming the next tragic victim?

Although Hutch knew Starsky was capable of defending himself and successfully handling any situation that arose, it did little to ease his worry. There were nights he would lay awake, his mind too alive with anxiety to sleep. Those were the nights Hutch would crawl from bed, retrieve his crumpled clothes from the floor, and drive the abandoned streets to check on his partner.

Starsky never seemed too thrilled to see him. Offering him a clipped, "what are you doin' here, Hutch?" Hutch would smile and say some snarky comment about wanting to ensure he didn't fall asleep on the job. The remarks always sounded cruel—even to his own ears—and Hutch hated himself for letting them escape. Somewhere in the bottom of his heart he knew should have been able to tell his partner how worried he was, but that kind of remark at this particular juncture of their partnership seemed too personal—somehow intimate—especially after what had taken place between them.

It was another sleepless night that found Hutch throwing on dirty, rumpled clothes, rubbing his sleepy eyes, and trekking down the dimly lit apartment staircase. Letting out a yawn, he threw up his arms to stretch his tightening back muscles before getting into his car and driving to the area of town he knew he would find Starsky.

He never made it.

Xx

"Hutch."

A familiar voice roused the blond man from his drug induced slumber. He thought about ignoring it and letting the drugs pull him into deep dreamless sleep but when he felt a touch on his forearm and his name was repeated once more—this time with a note of desperation—he felt compelled to comply.

Letting out a soft moan, Hutch forced open heavy eyelids and Starsky's annoyed face slowly came into focus.

"Hutch," Starsky said softly as he leaned forward in the chair next to Hutch's bed. "How are you feelin'?"

Lifting his un-casted arm, Hutch rubbed at his bruised face. He winced as the IV needle pinched the crook of his arm and struggled to remember what had happened. His mind was fuzzy and his body ached—despite the pain medication.

"Fine," he lied settling his arm on the bed and clearing his throat.

"Good." Starsky nodded, then continued in a much harsher tone. "You're a god-damn idiot! I told you to quit checking up on me in the middle of the night—"

"What are you doing here?" Hutch interrupted disregarding his partner's worry-fueled rant.

"What am I doing here?" Starsky's face crumpled in a mixture of disgust and shock. "You wrecked your car, where do you expect me to be?"

"I don't know," Hutch snorted, his glassy eyes found a sliver of sunshine streaming through the crack in the curtains. "Sleeping," he added. "Don't you got to be back at it tonight?"

Dumbfounded Starsky stared at Hutch. His partner's assumption that he wouldn't have cared about his accident smarted—cut really—and Starsky longed to assure him how much he did care and how worried he'd been, but his exhaustion from another uneventful night coupled with Hutch's foreign discomfort with his presence pushed him over the edge.

"You don't even want me here," he accused, his tone harsh and eyes angry. "When were you gonna call me? Let me know what happened?"

"I wasn't. You would have figured it out when I didn't check in today… or Dobey would have told you."

"Jesus." Starsky hung his head and rested his face in his palms. "How did we get here, Hutch? How did everything change so fast between us?"

"It hasn't."

"Bull-shit," Starsky challenged, lifting his hands at the white sterile room. "You're in the fucking hospital and you weren't even gonna tell me."

Silently, Hutch stared up at the ceiling. He felt guilty for wanting space from his partner, but he couldn't find the right words to explain why.

"You think I don't notice how you can't look me in the eye anymore?" Starsky continued softly. "Or how you fill up your days off so you don't have to spend them around me?"

"Yeah," Hutch snorted shaking his head. "I'm sure you miss me a lot. It isn't like you have had an open schedule lately either." The words came out more bitter and telling than he'd intended and he longed to pull the covers over his head and disappear. Instead, he forced himself to look his partner in the eye.

Although his expression was guarded, Starsky's eyes were undeniably sad. He pursed his lips and let his gaze drop to the clean tile flooring.

"Is this about K.C?" he asked quietly.

"No."

Brows furrowing Starsky looked up. "Hutch," he breathed. "Come on."

The drugs were calling Hutch back to unconsciousness and Starsky's tone was so soft. Even though the words were short, Hutch knew his partner was pleading with him put what happened behind them. To let it go and move on. It should have been easy but at that moment it felt impossible. With his body exhausted and heart aching, Hutch blurted the first thing that entered his mind.

"I'm not like you, Starsky. I can't have you in my arms and then pretend like I didn't."

"Who's pretending?" Starsky objected softly, crossing his arms. "Me? I'm just doing what I have to do to get through the day. I can't think about that shit with you, okay? I can't wonder about what we're missing out on. And I can't love you the way you want me to."

"Why?" Hutch whispered tearfully.

"Because it's not worth it." Standing from his seat Starsky moved closer to the bed. "Do you even know how lucky we are that Dobey didn't believe what Carelli said? What would have happened if he would have?" Pushing out a heavy breath, Starsky reached for Hutch's hand but the blond pulled it away. "I can't believe you," Starsky whispered, his gaze dropped to the floor as Hutch's averted to the ceiling. "I can't believe you still want to force this thing, after how close we came—"

"I would be forcing things between us?" Hutch spat bitterly. "How could you even say that to me… how can you stand here and act like you don't feel what I feel? I may have kissed you, Starsky, but you kissed me too."

Taking a step back, Starsky shoved his hands in his jean pockets and looked sadly at Hutch. He wanted so badly to say how much he enjoyed the moments they shared. To confined in his partner that he wasn't the only one who had been left haunted by the small glimpse of how fulfilling a romantic relationship with each other could be. But the fear of exposure was still lingering as was the undeniable knowledge of what such a thing would cost them.

"I can't do this with you," Starsky repeated sadly. "I'm sorry, Hutch but you're just gonna have to except that."

Starsky's blue eyes were pleading for Hutch to understand but Hutch was too hurt to accommodate him. Looking away from his partner, he closed his eyes and a solitary tear slid down his cheek.

"You should leave," he choked out.

"Hutch—"

"Just go."

Xx

After wrecking his car Hutch took a week of medical leave—he'd survived the ill-fated accident but it hadn't left him completely unscathed. He had a few scattered cuts and bruises and broken collarbone to contend with. It wasn't the worst injury he had ever endured but it certainly wasn't the best.

Starsky continued to work nights on the strangler case. He stopped by to check on his partner a handful of times throughout the week. Things were still slightly uncomfortable but the tension that had been hanging in the air for the past few weeks had started to ebb as the pair began slowly sliding back into the familiar friendship they had enjoyed over the years.

And in the end, Dobey had been right: the time apart had been good for the pair. It didn't take long for Hutch to be grateful for the space, it eased the sting of Starsky's romantic rejection and enabled him to see the situation through his partner's point of view, and as much as it pained him to admit, Starsky had been right. They had been incredibly fortunate Dobey had ignored Carelli's claims, fortune that wasn't destined to continue if Dryden and Simonetti had their way. The IA agents had followed through on their promise and had continued to watch Starsky and Hutch with unwavering attention.

The morning he was scheduled to return to work came much too early for Hutch. Reaching to silence his blaring alarm he let out yelp of pain as the extension of his uninjured arm pulled at his still healing shoulder.

"You okay?" Starsky stuck his worried head in to the bedroom alcove and assessed his blond partner worriedly. "Did you hurt yourself? Do you need some aspirin?"

"What are you doing here?" Hutch stared at his partner dumbfounded. With Starsky's late nights working undercover driving the Taxi Cab, Hutch hadn't anticipated his early morning presence.

"Whaddya mean?"

Starsky made his way to the bed, lingering at the edge of it he watched Hutch throw the covers aside and slowly stand. The blond man grimaced as his body protested the movement and Starsky had to hold himself back from reaching out a helpful hand. He wanted to ease some of his partner's pain, but he wasn't sure how welcome the action would be; they had eased back into their friendship but causal touching had become somewhat forbidden.

"I mean," Hutch breathed, easing his head side-to-side to stretch himself. "When did you get here—why are you here?"

"What are you talkin' about?" Starsky frowned. "It's your first day back." He shrugged and followed his slow moving partner from the room. "I'm not gonna miss your first day back. Besides, you don't even have a car."

Stopping in place, Hutch's face fell as he closed his eyes hung his head in frustration. He had intended to look for a new car, but the detail had gone completely overlooked.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Starsky grinned. "Don't worry, blintz," he said knowingly. "I've keeping my eyes open for another disaster on wheels. Don't expect me to pay for it, though. I bought the last one."

Sitting across from Starsky, Hutch shook his head and hid a grin. Their familiar banter felt good; it was nice to know some things would never change.

"Well," Hutch started with mock sternness. "If you aren't going to buy me a new car, will you at least make some coffee?"

"I'll do one better, I'll make you breakfast."

Xx

Adjusting uncomfortably in his desk chair Hutch blew out an exasperated breath and tapped the fingers of his uninjured arm on the desktop. The paperwork was incredibly dry and boring and he longed to be out on the street, not stuck in the small quiet windowless squad room. The florescent lights were nauseating and the dull ache in his shoulder was only getting worse with each passing second.

Three long days he had been doing this. Sorting through old files and information, struggling to come up with a connection or anything that resembled a lead on the strangler case, but so far he had come up emptyhanded.

Standing with a muffled groan, Hutch grabbed his coffee cup and made his way to the coffee pot outside of Dobey's office. Looking longingly at the empty hallway outside of the window of the squad room's main door, Hutch yearned to leave the claustrophobic room and the dry tedious files behind. Maybe he could take a break and a walk around the block, perhaps some fresh air and sunshine would help combat his boredom and energize his mind.

But Hutch refilled his cup and returned to his desk. Letting out a heavy sigh, he pushed the idea of a walk from his mind. He wouldn't be able to relax anyway, not knowing that his file covered desk was waiting for him. No, the only thing that would help him relax was putting an end to this case and returning his charismatic partner to his side.

Hutch smiled. He wasn't the only one who was feeling fatigued by their current case. Starsky's previous exuberance regarding working nights driving a hack had long since faded. In fact, the job was wearing on him so much that the man's friendly demeanor was all but absent these days, replaced by a impatient short-tempered stranger who's tired and disheveled appearance only loosely resembled the Starsky everyone knew. Hutch suspected that the abrupt dissolution of his partner's casual relationship with K.C hadn't helped the man's outlook but he kept that was a thought he kept to himself.

Flipping through the pile once more, Hutch hesitated as his gaze caught on a torn piece of paper that had been forgotten and shoved between two of the files. Reconginzing the name and address in Starsky's familiar script, Hutch bit his lip as a new thought crossed his mind. Gramps Fitzgerald, a strange name for an equally strange man; they had interviewed him just before Hutch's ill-fated car accident and something had seemed off about him. At the time it hadn't been much more than a slight uneasy feeling, but now, recalling a few details of their conversation, Hutch felt a sliver of hope. Maybe the man had been hiding something; perhaps this was the break they had been searching for.

The phone on his desk rang suddenly, chasing away Hutch's train of thought as he reached absently for the receiver.

"Yeah?" he answered in a disinterested tone.

"What's wrong with you?" Starsky asked, his tone equally indifferent.

"Nothing."

"Yeah, right," Starsky growled.

"Starsky…" pulling his gaze from the paper Hutch tilted his head in exasperation. Judging by the man's voice, not only was Starsky exhausted but he was also looking for an argument. "There's nothing wrong with me," Hutch stated. "What's eating you?"

"Nothin'," Starsky denied before sighing heavily. "Tired."

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" Hutch groused. "Go back to bed."

"I tried, I can't sleep."

"What do you want, a bedtime story?"

Hutch smiled in satisfaction when he heard Starsky's deep chuckle, quietly grateful his joke had landed and dissolved some of his partner's moodiness.

"No," Starsky declined in a lighter tone. "I wanted to know what you're doing for lunch."

"I don't know yet."

"I do," Starsky said confidently. "You're gonna go grab a bite with me and then I got a surprise for ya afterword's—"

"Starsky…" Hutch sighed lowly, his gaze once again on the crumpled note in front of him. "I got a lot of stuff to do."

"Come on, Hutch, it's just lunch and then a quick field trip. I'll be down to pick you up in 30 minutes and I'll have you back to your boring desk job in no time. Besides, I ain't got all afternoon either, I got to be on the clock again tonight."

"Okay."

"Great!" Starsky exclaimed. "It's a date."

"No it isn't." Hutch grimaced as the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

The statement went unnoticed by Starsky however, he had already hung up the phone.

Xx

"Holy _shit_ ," Hutch breathed staring at the car parked in the driveway of Starsky's townhouse.

"You surprised?" Starsky happily probed as a satisfied grin covered his features.

"That's an understatement," Hutch admitted, circling the tan dented and dinged LTD he smoothed his hand over the discolored fender. "It looks like just my old one. "He looked at Starsky in awe. "Where did you find it?"

"Not where, how," Starsky corrected, coming to a stop behind his partner.

"What?"

"That is your car, Hutch," Starsky advised. "Didn't I tell you Merle is a miracle worker?"

Hutch looked at the car in disbelief. His car had been totaled—or so he'd been told, he never did get around to the viewing the remains of his deceased automobile, finding the prospect of saying a final goodbye to the cherished car too painful to think about. This LTD, not to be confused with the LTD of the past, was more important to Hutch then he could put into words; Starsky had originally given him this car and now he was presenting it to him once more.

"Starsky," Hutch whispered, his voice wavering with emotion. "I don't know what to say. How is this even possible?"

"It really didn't take that much. Even Merle couldn't believe how easy it was once he got into it," Starsky stated seriously. "That thing is a cockroach of cars." He pointed a finger at the offending object, shaking his head with contrived disapproval. Hutch smiled knowingly as he returned to inspecting the exterior of the car. "And despite being crashed into a telephone pole, I don't think it will ever die. Damn thing is gonna outlive us all."

Completing his intense assessment of the car, Hutch looked at his partner, and overwhelmed by the pure joy and happiness radiating off of his partner Starsky took a step back. Hutch was positively glowing and he felt his chest fill with a rush of love and affection for the man. Struggling to get a handle on his overwhelming emotions, Starsky didn't notice that Hutch was quickly advancing on him until the blond man pulled him into a tight one-armed embrace.

"Starsky," Hutch breathed into his partner's shoulder. "Thank you. I don't know why you did it but I'm so glad you did."

"Me too," Starsky admitted softly. He was acutely aware of why he had chosen to save the beloved car as opposed to finding a replacement; Hutch loved the car and Starsky loved Hutch.

Closing his eyes, Starsky held Hutch tightly and savored the feeling. It had been so long since they had embraced or even touched and suddenly he realized how much he had missed their closeness and how much his heart ached for more.

But just as quickly as it had begun, the touch ended.

Clearing his throat, Hutch pulled back. "Ah, thanks, Partner," he said in a deep voice as a guarded look swept across his features.

"No problem," Starsky replied. Forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, he fought a threatening wave of sadness at the loss of contact with his partner.

Avoiding each other's gaze they stood in an awkward silence for a moment; each man desperately trying to ignore the flicker of deep love and fondness they had just shared. Pursing his lips, Hutch pretended to adjust the sling protecting his damaged shoulder, and Starsky kicked his feet on the ground before shoving his hands in his jean pockets.

"Oh, yeah," he stated, as the tips of his fingers grazed a sharp medal object in one of his pockets. Pulling it out, he presented it to his partner. "Here's your key back."

"I guess I'll be needing that, huh?" Hutch smiled taking the orphan key and closing it in his palm. "Well," he added after a moment. "I suppose I ought to be heading back. I got those files to get through and you got to be on the road soon."

"Yeah," Starsky agreed, this time he didn't veil the disappointment in his voice. "I guess I'll be seeing ya."

But not wanting the moment to pass, neither man moved. Looking sadly at each other, they both struggled with what neither man could possibly say.

"Uh… thanks again for the car." Hutch said finally, tilting his head at the LDT.

"No problem."

"I guess, I really will go now."

"Okay."

Moving to the car, Hutch unlocked it and paying close attention to his shoulder he gently settled himself in the driver's seat. He was about to shut the door when Starsky spoke again.

"Hey, Hutch?"

"Yeah?"

Starsky paused momentarily a nervous expression settling on his features. "Why don't you stop by my route tonight?"

Surprised by the question, Hutch didn't answer at first, and Starsky's stomach dropped suddenly thinking he the invitation had been a mistake.

"I mean you don't have to," Starsky backtracked, averting his eyes as he kicked nervously at the ground. "Forget I even brought it—"

"No," Hutch disagreed firmly and it was Starsky's turn to look surprised. "I'll come by," Hutch added, his voice softening with a smile. "Same time as before?"

"Same time as before," Starsky verified, his discomfort and nervousness fading away.

Hutch offered him a mock salute before shutting the LTD's door. Turning in place Starsky felt as though his heart would burst with happiness. He couldn't avoid the skip in his step as he made his way back to the waiting Torino.

Night was going to be good. No _great_.

Xx

The night was not good, and it was most definitely not _great_. Well, technically it was the next morning, but with his mind fuzzy from whatever he had been dozed with in the cab, Starsky was having a hard time telling the difference between where last night had ended and where this morning had begun.

His vision was too blurry to see anything in front of him and his heart was pounding frantically as he struggled to escape the dead end of the alley. He couldn't see the man advancing on him but Starsky could hear him; each step he made was announced by the terrifying scratching of his shoes. The sound intermixed with the frantic beating of his own heart and Starsky was suddenly overwhelmed by the notion that it would be the last thing he ever heard. That the soundtrack of his death would be some absurd scratching noise intermingling with his anxious heartbeat, peppered with an agonizing list of shoulda-coulda-woulda's.

He _shoulda_ quit this damn case before he was too exhausted to realize he was giving a ride to a deranged killer. Now he was gonna die in a dirty alleyway like a chump.

He _coulda_ hidden his porno mags better. When his mother flew out to pack up his apartment, after his untimely chump death, she was gonna have a hell of moment when she came upon them sitting on the back of his toilet.

But most of all, he _woulda_ given anything to have kissed Hutch one last time. He shoulda done it after presenting his partner with the newly fixed LTD. He coulda done it then, if only he woulda had the courage to own how he felt.

Suddenly, all of Starsky's worries intensified as the scratching of the shoes came to an abrupt stop. Looking up into the man's crazed eyes, Starsky started sucking in deep panicked breaths. It may have been the drugs but the man's skin appeared to be falling off. He looked like some psychedelic version of a psychotic grandma. A little old lady seeking revenge on her grandkids for not using proper manners at the dinner table.

His eyes dulled by drugs but still wide with fearful tears, Starsky struggled to pull his badge from his jacket pocket. "Listen…" he slurred, clumsily flashing his badge as he reminded himself that the man was not a horror movie version of a grandma, but a man, just like him. Well, not _exactly_ like him; the guy was serial killer. But somehow crazy serial killers were a lot less frightening at the moment then out of hand vengeful grandmas. "I'm a cop… you don't have to kill a-anymore," Starsky added his voice slurring. "Y-you can stop… killing."

For a terrifying moment the granny man said nothing. Starsky's breathing became even more labored as his vision swam and he remained trapped under the intensity of the man's dark eyes. He wanted to scream but couldn't get his voice to work properly.

"I won't ever stop," Granny Man smiled gleefully as his ragged voice filled the alleyway. A sound that made Starsky's skin scrawl. "You won't stop me and neither will anyone else. This is my stage, where I will finally make my greatness known."

"N-no," Starsky choked as the man started advancing on him once more.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head rapidly. This wasn't how it was supposed to go; this wasn't how his life was supposed to end. He had big plans for his future and dying in a dirty alleyway wasn't a part of them.

According to Starsky's blueprint of his future, he and Hutch would continue to work together. They'd work the grind of their beat before eventually moving up and becoming Lieutenants. Maybe Hutch would eventually become disenchanted with police work and he'd talk Starsky into walking away from the job or maybe, just maybe, his blond partner would replace Dobey someday—and he could too. Starsky didn't have doubt in his mind that his partner was capable of filling the huge shoes of such a mammoth man, a man who had come to mean so much to Starsky over the years.

But until either of those things happened, they'd work their asses off, give people enough to focus on and talk about regarding their busts and work achievements that they wouldn't give a second thought to their personal lives. It was crucial that they keep attention off of their personal lives. Gay cops don't have long careers, especially if they're caught sleeping with their very male partners.

Eyes still shut as Starsky frantically focused on his future plans, he thought he heard the sound of a car horn and then a crash, but both noises seemed distant and irrelevant to his current situation and his future.

In the near future, Starsky had made the biggest plan of all. He and Hutch would continue to behave themselves for the benefit of Simonetti and Dryden. They would lay low and avoid the temptation of romantic involvement until the team's suspicions faded then they would finally be together. It would be hell waiting, but eventually, hopefully sooner rather than later, they would be together.

It wasn't ideal or even what most people would do—spend every moment of their day pining over someone they couldn't have—but it was what Starsky wanted. He wanted Hutch and he would do whatever he had to do until it was safe enough to make a move. And in that moment, Starsky's biggest regret of all was not sharing his plans with Hutch, because now he was going to die in the dirty darkness of the alleyway and Hutch would never know about the plan.

Feeling someone touch his cheek, Starsky flinched. He tried to pull away but he couldn't, so instead he squeezed his eyes closed tighter and fought back a sob.

"Starsky," a familiar voice softly stated and the sound was enough to silence his hysterical thoughts.

Tentatively opening one eye then another, Starsky's vision swam before clearing enough to see Hutch standing in front of him. He smiled in relief and reached a needy hand toward his partner.

"Hutch."

"Are you okay?" Hutch asked softly, grasping Starsky's hand.

Starsky could only nod as a few relieved tears slipped from his eyes and streaked down his dirty cheeks.

"Well, now I know why you wanted me to come see you," Hutch joked. "Looks like I showed up just in time."

"I didn't think you were gonna come," Starsky choked out, squeezing Hutch's hand tightly. "I-I thought that was it… that I'd never see you again—"

"Hey," Hutch comforted. "I'll always show up to save you, you know that."

Starsky shook his head. "No," he whispered. "I didn't... things have been so weird lately." He pulled his hand from Hutch's grasp only to desperately grip the lapels of his letterman jacket. "I-I have plans Hutch... I love you... I-I-I..."

"Shhhhhh," Hutch soothed with a comforting smile, "it's okay, Starsky. Everything is going to be alright."

"No, it isn't!" Starsky cried, his face crumbling as more tears trailed down his cheeks. "I don't wanna die in this alley…. An I don't want my mom to see my porno mags… a-and I want to kiss you before I die!" Taken aback by Starsky's drug fueled confessions, Hutch stood dumbly as his partner dissolved into deep sobs. "Hutch, please," Starsky cried as clung to his partner. "Please, I have plans for us… you don't even know… but I want you to know…"

"Is he alright?" K.C. asked looking at Hutch oddly.

"Yeah." Suddenly hypersensitive to the woman's presence, Hutch pulled back a little but Starsky's firm grip on his jacket remained. Moving his hand to cup Starsky's neck Hutch continued, "Shook up... Drugged. But I think he's okay."

"H-Hutch," Starsky pleaded once more, pulling down on his partner's jacket-desperately trying to bring himself closer to his protector. "Please… I love you… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"

"Shhhhhh," Hutch comforted. "I hear you, Pal." Moving his hand to caress Starsky's stubbled cheek, he leaned in closely and whispered, "It's okay. I love you, pal, but please stop talking. We don't need another audience, huh?"

"But I love ya, Hutch," Starsky slurred. "Love ya so _damn_ much."

Mouth agape, Hutch heard someone clear their throat. Turning in place, he glanced over his shoulder to find K.C. watching them intently, her face frozen in shock. Hutch stomach did a flip as wondered how long she had been standing on the sidelines, watching and listening to Starsky ramble on about how he felt.

"Must be the drugs," Hutch stated in a gravely tone.

But K.C. looked unconvinced. Hutch watched her nervously as she bit her bottom lip and stared wide-eyed at them as Starsky continued to mumble a declarations of his undying love and his plans for the future.

Swallowing dryly, Hutch glanced at Starsky then looked back to K.C. once more.

"Do you think you could go wait on the curb for the back up?" he asked. "Just in case they have trouble finding the place." He offered her a dazzling smile. "Please? I'd do it, but," he tilted his head at Starsky. "He's a mess."

She looked at him dubiously for a moment—watching Starsky mumble nonsense and cling to Hutch like he was a savior—before turning and walking down the alley to the curb.

When K.C. finally disappeared around the corner, Hutch allowed Starsky to pull him to eye level. He grimaced when the sudden movement jostled his shoulder, but he ignored the sharp jolts of pain. This moment was too important to have ruined by a still-healing collar-bone.

"I love ya," Starsky mumbled again, looking at Hutch with red rimmed glassy eyes as his head bobbed from side to side.

"I know," Hutch whispered. "The whole world knows," he groused. "You gotta stop saying that before back up gets here. We don't need any more visits by IA."

"Then… say it back," Starsky pleaded.

"Are you gonna start crying again if I don't," Hutch quipped. He had his doubts about whether his reciprocation of Starsky's feeling would actually discontinue his drug-fueled ramblings. But he said it anyway. "I love you," he whispered pushing dark sweat covered curls off the damp forehead. "Are you happy now?"

Starsky's face broke into a smile. "Yes."

"David Starsky," Hutch growled. "You better fucking remember this when those drugs wear off."

"I will," Starsky vowed. "I ain't ever gonna forget."

Xx

The hospital kept Starsky overnight, and Hutch, eternally protective of his partner, spent a sleepless night in the uncomfortable chair at his bedside. The chair hurt his still healing collarbone and his always temperamental back but Hutch didn't even think about leaving. Not after Starsky's earlier declaration of love and especially not after his partner's drug induced ramblings regarding the undecided state of their friendship.

Starsky had thought Hutch wouldn't have come. Rubbing at his aching shoulder Hutch snorted. Like he could have held himself back. Just like he couldn't control his worry or need to protect his best friend now. But even so, a strange sense of peace had enveloped Hutch during the night, bringing clarity to his mind and respite to his heart. Suddenly, he no longer felt hostage to the situation with his partner because after everything they had gone through Hutch knew the truth; they loved each other. No amount of bickering or hurt feelings would ever change such a simple fact.

Morning came too fast and too slow at the same time, and before Hutch knew it Starsky was alert once more, greeting him with crystal clear blue eyes and wide smile.

"You stay here all night?" Starsky asked, taking in Hutch's disheveled clothes and exhausted body.

Hutch nodded.

"You shouldn't have done that, Blintz," Starsky chastised pulling himself to stand.

Gripping the bar on the bedside, Starsky took a small tentative step forward. Although his mind felt clear, his body felt weak and old, still suffering from the after effects of the drug he closed his eyes and fought nausea as he swayed slightly. Hutch leaned forward, ready to jump up and help him, but eyes closed, Starsky held up a hand.

"No," he offered quietly. "You stay there. I don't wanna take you down if I fall. Lot of good that would do. Your shoulder's got to hurt like a bitch right now."

"Not really," Hutch lied quietly, but his handing lingering over the top of his sling was a giveaway of how much pain he really felt.

"Sure it doesn't."

Starsky opened his eyes and smiled knowingly. He took a few more shaky steps before becoming steady. He regained his saunter in full by the time he reached the closet where his clothes hung limp on hangers.

"Don't you think you ought to talk to the doctor before you get dressed?" Hutch offered halfheartedly. "Who knows when they're gonna let you go."

"I'll be fine." Starsky assured, pulling tight ripped jeans up his legs. His eyes shined warmly as he looked at the blond man. "We're gonna be just fine, you and me."

"You mean us?" Hutch stated absently. "I didn't think there was an us," he added in a low mumble.

Stripping himself of the hospital gown, Starsky pulled his shirt over his head. He considered Hutch's words seriously for a moment, before walking to stand in front of his partner.

"There will always be an us, Partner," Starsky whispered, staring into Hutch's joy filled eyes. "I got plans for you and me."

"So I heard," Hutch murmured, cupping the side of Starsky's face as it lingered inches from his own. "What do you have in mind?"

Starsky didn't respond but Hutch didn't mind, and all of his previous tiredness melted away as Starsky gripped the back of his neck, bent over, and placed a soft firm kiss on his lips.

Xx

Blinking his tired eyes, Hutch tapped his fingers at the desk at the nurses' station as he yawned once more. The night had exhausted him and sleep was eagerly beckoning both his body and mind.

Fully dressed, Starsky stood next to Hutch, half-listening to the discharge instructions before scribbling his neat signature at the bottom of a release form.

"Is that it?" he asked pushing the form back to the smiling nurse.

"Yes," she affirmed warmly. "Just in time too. Your ride's here." She pointed at the orderly coming up upon them, empty wheelchair in tow.

"Ugh," Starsky groaned his eyes settling on the hated chair. "I don't think I'll be needing—"

"We have to insist," the nurse interrupted. "Hospital policy."

Starsky looked at Hutch for support but the other man was no help. The blond leaned heavily on the nurse's station his eyes shut as he teetered on the brink of sleep.

Starsky couldn't help the electric smile that danced on his features. "Okay," he said to the nurse before turning and advancing on the orderly. "I won't be needing you." Starsky moved his hands and ushered man away from the handles of the wheelchair.

"But—"the man tried to protest.

"Hey, blintz," Starsky chuckled bringing the chair to a stop behind his dozing partner.

"What?" Hutch's eyes shot open as he was pushed into the soft seat of the wheelchair. "Starsky, what—"

"Shhhhh!" Starsky reprimanded spinning the chair around to wheel his partner to the packed hospital parking lot. "Hospital policy, Partner. I tried, there's just no way of getting' around it."

Hutch wanted to protest then thought better of it. Starsky, fully rested from his drug induced sleep, was full of energy. He, however, was not, and if Starsky wanted to expel his excess energy and excitement by pushing him to the car, Hutch would allow it. He couldn't help a smile as one of Starsky's hands found the back of his neck and squeezed, or another in the elevator when Starsky bent and placed a gentle kiss on his neck.

Xx

"Starsky," Hutch protested, laying in Starsky's bed as his energetic partner unfolded the afghan and gently tucked the material around him. "You were the one in the hospital—not me—I should be the one doing this for you—"

"Shhhh." Starsky leaned forward and placed his index finger over Hutch's lips silencing his objection. "I had a full night sleep. You were the one who spend the night in a shitty plastic chair, with a bum arm and everything." He smoothed Hutch's bangs off his forehead then cupped his cheek as his partner looked at him dubiously. "I want you to rest," he added softly.

"But Starsky—"

"Ah!" Starsky interrupted. "I said rest."

Laying his head heavily on the fluffy pillow, Hutch sighed dramatically and rubbed his hand over his face. His body needed sleep but his exhausted mind needed closure and answers. The peace and excitement Hutch had felt at the hospital after Starsky kissed him was slowing slipping away and he found he needed something more to hang on to—some kind of certainty that he wouldn't wake to find that his partner's feelings had vanished once more. No, they _had_ to talk about what had happened to Starsky in the alley and the unexpected sudden shift in their relationship that had resulted from it.

"Starsky," Hutch protested once more, clumsily pulling himself to lean up against the headboard. "What changed?"

With sparkling eyes Starsky cupped the blond's cheeks in his hands and planted a kiss on Hutch's cheeks. "Nothing and everything," he whispered resting their foreheads together.

"That doesn't explain anything."

"Shhhhh," Starsky soothed, dropping his hands to squeeze Hutch's shoulders. "We'll talk about it later."

"But I want to talk about it now."

"Later."

"Starsky," Hutch pleaded, grasping his partner's forearm. "Please… I can't… I need to know that I'm not going to wake up to find you've changed your mind."

The soft statement hung in the air as the men looked at each other. Starsky's intensity was unnerving, his silence terrifying. Feeling increasingly transparent, Hutch found himself regretting letting such a forward request slip through but he had to know. To give in to Starsky's love once more only to have it ripped away would be too much.

"I'll be here, Hutch." Leaning forward Starsky carded his fingers through his partner's hair; he smiled as the blond let out a sigh of relaxation and leaned into the touch. "I love you," Starsky added softly as though the declaration explained everything and erased the confusion that had been lingering between them.

And somehow it did.

Staring into his partner's gentle eyes Hutch saw that something had disappeared from the familiar depths and something different had taken its place. The sparkle of fear and apprehension was gone, replaced by a flicker of passion and acceptance. The love in Starsky's gaze had remained but somehow it was different too. Deeper somehow. And suddenly, Hutch recalled Starsky's earlier words, " _We're going to be okay, you and me_ ," at the time they had been spoken with a certainty Hutch couldn't quiet comprehend, but in this moment, staring into his partner's familiar, yet, changed eyes, Hutch found he believed Starsky's words with unwavering conviction.

"Me too," Hutch whispered, letting out an exhausted yawn.

"Go to sleep, babe," Starsky soothed. Pulling his hand from Hutch's hair, he stood and smoothed the blankets covering his partner. "I'll be here when you get up."

Hutch didn't respond, but he felt a rush of affection when Starsky's lips softly kissed his forehead. Falling into a peaceful slumber, Hutch dreamed of nothing but the future.

END


End file.
